In the Wake
by Systatic
Summary: Theodore Nott didn't think of himself as a typical Slytherin. Then again, anyone who fights off six Death Eaters to rescue an injured Harry Potter wasn't a typical Slytherin. Harry/Theo. SLASH.
1. Chapter 1

**In the Wake**

_A Harry Potter Fan Fiction_

By Systatic

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter nor am I affiliated with J. K. Rowling, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, Warner Bros., etc. This story is non-profit and purely for entertainment value.

**As a warning:** This story contains **slash**, otherwise known as **homosexual** pairings, i.e. romantic liaisons between two men.

* * *

**Summary: **Theodore Nott didn't think of himself as a typical Slytherin. Then again, anyone who fights off six Death Eaters to rescue an injured Harry Potter wasn't a typical Slytherin.

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

* * *

It had happened quickly. One moment, the laughter and cheerful chatter of students echoed off the walls of Hogsmeade shops, and the next, screams of terror and agony rent the air.

The masked figures of Voldemort's Death Eaters apparated into the streets with sharp _cracks!_, looking like reapers on the hunt for souls. As one, they raised their wands and the _Avada Kedavra_ curse blasted from the tips like emerald fire. The advancing beams of sickly green light raced towards the students that stood frozen in the streets, a veritable tidal wave of death.

Theodore's heart leapt into his throat at the thought of so much destruction. His eyes were bright with frustrated tears as he watched the impending massacre from where he hid, huddled in the narrow alley between Scrivenshafts and Gladrags. Children, they were only _children_! How could the Dark Lord sanction such barbarity? How could he allow the murder of his own people?

He couldn't force his eyes to close as the killing curses barreled forward. _Oh Merlin,_ he choked on his own breath, fingers clenching uselessly around the handle of his wand. _Please, anyone, save them! Please! _He knew that he was too late to do it himself.

The green surged forward, crested, and, for a moment, all was quiet.

Then, there was a great rumble and the earth trembled beneath his feet. He struggled to stay standing as a massive wall of rock shot up from the ground, stopping the curses in their path. Bits of rock and dirt flew off and the Death Eaters looked on in a shocked stupor, seeing their attack halted in its tracks.

Theo gasped in surprise, his eyes wide and disbelieving. "How?" he whispered. He knew no one that had the power to reform the very earth.

The only noise in the town was that of the newly formed wall. The massive, towering behemoth groaned ominously, shedding a waterfall of pebbles and dirt, and collapsed back into the ground with a resounding _bang!_ A cloud of dust rose up at the impact. The only remaining indication of its existence was a line of freshly upturned dirt.

The whimpers of those on the other side of the dust cloud rose in volume, even as hazy outlines became visible behind it. There was a flurry of movement as the smaller shadows were herded away from the battle zone and into some safe corner. The Death Eaters, meanwhile, had reformed and were marching forward.

A figure, tall and imposing, was revealed as the cloud finally dispersed. Harry Potter stood with his wand out and arms raised, righteous fury etched into every line of his face. Understanding dawned as Theo realized that Potter had been the one to raise the wall. But now that he thought about it, it wasn't much of a surprise—Potter had always been too powerful for his own good.

The rebellious teen was literally cloaked in power. It rolled off of him in miniature tornadoes that picked up the dirt and rocks and spun them around in a maelstrom of ever increasing strength.

His friends, Granger and Weasley, stood behind him with grim faces, and beyond them, a line of fifth, sixth, and seventh years waited with their wands out. Some had already cast defensive shields over the entire party.

Potter didn't wait any longer to launch his attack. He threw his arm in a wide arc and a lash of purple light exploded from his wand. It raced towards the marching Death Eaters, slammed against their shields, and shattered them, blasting the front line backwards.

The Death Eaters let out an enraged cry and descended on the gathered teens like starving wolves.

"No mercy!" Potter yelled, his voice ringing over the town. His comrades roared their agreement.

* * *

It was chaos. Harry and his friends had been separated early in the fight, and he was left alone against ten Death Eaters. The Boy-Who-Lived fought beautifully, dodging and ducking curses as spell after spell rolled off his lips. He felled three enemies before a cutting curse caught him in the shoulder.

"Ah!" Harry cried out as his nerves exploded in pain. His wand arm hung limp and useless. He quickly switched his wand to his other hand and brought down the Death Eater who attacked him with a well-timed _Reducto _to the chest. His casting was noticeably slower, but he made up for it by using even more powerful and lethal spells.

The teen gasped as the _Cruciatus_ curse grazed his left side, agony searing through his veins at the slight graze. Sweat dripped from his brow and his vision began to blur in exhaustion and loss of blood.

Theo watched the fight with wild eyes. This wasn't what he wanted! The Dark wasn't about blood and torture and death! Was this what his father fought for? Theo shuddered at the thought of his father being out there, attacking his peers, murdering children the same age as his son. Would he, Theo, be forced to perpetuate this madness?

And Potter—Harry—was the only thing standing between these murderers and the innocents they wanted to kill. An unexpected rush of gratitude welled in his chest for this man, who fought so determinedly to save lives unconnected to his own and expected nothing in return.

Harry was close to dropping, and more and more curses and hexes were hitting their marks.

One of them had obviously grown bored and threw a full powered _Cruciatus _at the teen, smashing through his weak shield and impacting him head on. Harry toppled like a puppet with its strings cut.

The others followed their comrades' mark, and whispered, "_Crucio!_" Harry's body writhed and twisted under the force of six Unforgivables.

Oh Merlin, here he was, huddling like a coward in an alley while students—his peers—fought for their lives and the lives of their younger housemates. Theo clenched his eyes shut. _Slytherin is not synonymous with coward!,_ he yelled to himself.

He was startled into action when one of the Death Eaters released an insane laugh, "How does it feel, Potter? To be at our mercy?" His fellows chuckled.

Seconds later, Harry finally released his first scream. It froze his blood in his veins, the agony in that cry. The body on the ground shuddered, the movements becoming weaker and weaker every second.

Theo didn't realize he was moving until the large rock in his hand found its home upon the back of a Death Eater's skull. The man dropped with a grunt, falling unconscious almost immediately.

"Nott!" one of them screamed. "What are you doing?"

Theo didn't reply, instead sending a stunner followed by a cutting curse at the man's stomach.

That Death Eaters where shocked at first, but it didn't take them long to realize what was to happening. Young Theodore Nott was betraying them. It wasn't long before they sprang into action but Theo was already moving, driven by his desperation to get Harry out of the crossfire.

Of the four attackers left, he hit the one that had spoken with a well-aimed bone-breaking curse, shattering the man's wand-arm, before taking him down with another spell that blasted him backwards. His body slammed into the stone wall of a shop with a sickening crunch, falling to the afterwards like a puppet with its strings cut.

The remaining Death Eaters were enraged seeing their fellow taken out by a _traitor_. They flung curses at him, well past speaking.

Theo ducked the lurid orange and yellow spells, grimacing as he felt the corrosive magic grasp at him as it flew overhead. He didn't want to imagine what would have happened to him if they had actually made contact. _Only three left,_ he told himself. He could deal with three Death Eaters, right?

The blank, bone-white masks covering their faces were frightening to an extreme. These men were fully-trained wizards, knowledgeable of spells that he could only guess at. And if Harry, who had risen that great wall, who had stood up to Voldemort himself, had taken down nearly a dozen and had to be taken out by _six_ of them, what in the world would Theo, who was so much weaker than the Boy-Who-Lived, be able to do against three?

He dodged another wave of dark magic, scrambling away from the open street even as he felt the spell singe the fabric of his robe and he hurled himself to his left. He couldn't contemplate his fears now—he had already, foolishly, stood up to them and they were out for his blood.

The Death Eaters called out for him, their mocking, jeering laughs and dark promises sending cold sweat down his spine.

The Slytherin summoned an enormous block of rubble, covertly watching as it hurtled towards one of his attackers from behind, toppling the man and crushing his skull. He resisted the urge to retch; he'd killed a man, brutally, but there were still two left.

_Oh, Merlin, I'm going to die,_ he told himself. He cried out as a spell lashed past his cheek, splitting it open. He felt the burn of the cut and grimaced as blood dripped down the side of his face.

They had found his hiding spot, a small corner hidden between two collapsing shops. He leapt away from the wall just as it shattered outward behind him, throwing him forward onto his hands and knees. He grunted as he felt the delicate skin of his palms and the knees of his pants tear against sharp gravel.

Theo pulled himself up, throwing a few spells as he tried to search for another spot to ambush his pursuers. There was no way he could take them down in open combat.

He was utterly unmatched; they were coming onto him too fast, too strong. All he could do was dodge their attacks, too frightened to make a real attempt at finishing them, too physically small and weak to take them out with a tackle.

He rolled to avoid a blasting hex, his breath seizing in his chest when the ground next to his head exploded in a shower of debris. That could have been his head!

He glanced up in shock when one of the men cried out. He was grasping his chest as if his heart was exploding inside. "Damn you, Potter!" he spat, the lurid red of his blood beginning to leak from a corner of his mouth.

Theo glanced to his right with wide eyes. There he was—Harry, on the ground, injured and pale, but with his wand in hand and pointed at the wheezing Death Eater. His green eyes were burning with emerald fire, hatred so intense that it made Theo shiver.

He turned back to the one remaining Death Eater to see him move his wand, the tip glowing bright green.

"_Avada_—" the wizard began.

_I don't fucking think so!_ Not after Harry had saved his life, _again_. He wouldn't allow this bastard to kill the man he was indebted to.

Theo leapt forward, tackling the man's back, using surprise to succeed where his small frame would have otherwise failed. He grabbed the man's head by his hair and slammed him face first into the rock-strewn ground until he stopped moving. He stumbled back from the prone body, horrified at his actions, before his attention was caught by movement out of the corner of his eye.

Harry, who had pushed himself up onto one elbow to curse the man about to take Theo's life, had collapsed back onto the ground with an ominous _thud_. The blue-eyed teen watched as Harry's wand rolled from his grasp, coming to a stop about a foot from his limp fingers.

Theo gasped and hurried forward.

"Harry!" he cried, tumbling to his knees and gripping the other's cheeks. The notion to call him _Potter_ didn't even cross his mind; the moment the green-eyed teen stood up for those children in the alley, he'd become _Harry_—and Harry wasn't allowed to die.

"Harry! Please wake up!" He crawled over the teen, shielding him with his body. Theo grit his teeth as his eyes roved over the gash on Harry's shoulder. It was deep and oozing blood at an alarming rate. He could feel the malignant magic emanating from it. It was a miracle that Harry had mustered the strength to wake up, let alone lift his wand and fell another Death Eater.

He pointed his wand and whispered a disinfecting spell, removing the grit and rubble ground into the wound, followed by the strongest healing charm he knew, pouring every ounce of magic he could into it.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the wound closed, his magic beating back that of the curse's and settling into the flesh, repairing and knitting it back together. He was gasping for breath by the time the injury was entirely healed, having scraped the bottoms of his reserves.

"Harry," he moaned, breathless and despairing. The Gryffindor laying beneath him was so very still. He couldn't suppress the sob that bubbled up in his throat. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his head coming to rest on Harry's uninjured shoulder. His muscles gave out in exhaustion, and he collapsed on top of the unconscious Gryffindor, absently hoping he didn't hurt him in the process but too weak to move. "I'm sorry. Merlin, I'm sorry. I'm not ready for this. I—I didn't know _this_ is what they do."

Theo felt so weak and confused. He could see the bodies of the Death Eaters both he and Harry had felled on the edges of his blackening vision. How in the world had he taken down _five_ of them? He laid his head on Harry's chest, feeling the reassuring beat of his heart against his uninjured cheek, and let exhaustion take him.


	2. Chapter 2

**In the Wake**

_A Harry Potter Fan Fiction_

By Systatic

* * *

**Disclaimer: **All information and warnings are in the first chapter.

**Summary: **Theodore Nott didn't think of himself as a typical Slytherin. Then again, anyone who fights off six Death Eaters to rescue an injured Harry Potter wasn't a typical Slytherin.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

* * *

"Harry!"

He woke slowly, almost groaning as he felt fire race down his shoulder. He couldn't muster the strength to open his eyes, but relaxed when he felt soft, delicate palms settle on either side of his face.

The voice that called his name was familiar—and yet not. He felt like he knew the person speaking, but heard words from their mouth only rarely.

"Harry!" they called again, sounding so frantic and scared that he began to cast off the web of unconsciousness that still clung to him. "Please wake up!" _I'm trying,_ he silently told them.

He felt them crawl over him, gently settling above his body. They mumbled something—he couldn't quite make out the soft words over the din of ongoing battle—before the throbbing in his arm gradually began to abate.

Ah, so they were healing him. The pain slowly numbed; he could almost feel his body piece itself back together. His muscles seemed to unlock and his head cleared the longer he was healed. He frowned; the hand on his chest was shaking—from exhaustion, maybe? Fear?

"Harry," the voice said, filled with such despair that Harry's heart ached. He wanted to lean into the tender hands stroking his cheeks, to reassure whoever it was that he was going to be okay. "I'm sorry," they continued.

_ You have nothing to apologize for,_ he wanted to tell them. They had healed him; should he not be thanking them, instead? He raged at the veil clouding his mind, tearing at the strands holding his mind captive, even as his magic continued to fight off the residual effects of the dark magic cast upon him. Soon, he chanted, soon he would awake fully.

"I'm sorry," they repeated. "Merlin, I'm sorry. I'm not ready for this. I—I didn't know _this_ is what they do."

The words struck a chord within him. Not ready for what? He forced his eyes to open just as the person above him collapsed upon his chest.

He stared at the downy curls in incomprehension. Maple brown, slightly long; the hair looked silky. He could see a stretch of smooth, pale skin covering their cheek; it was smudged with dirt and blood that he yearned to wipe away.

Black robes, just like his—a student, then. And yet, he could see that they were edged with green, and he caught a glimpse of a green- and silver-striped tie peeking out from underneath the collar of their dirty white dress shirt.

A Slytherin.

He blinked slowly, his eyebrows rising in incredulity; bloody hell, a _Slytherin_ had healed him—a _Slytherin_ was _lying on top of him_.

Oh. _Oh._ He knew who this was. He remembered often seeing those curls covering a down-turned head as their owner shuffled around the hallways; always trying to remain unseen, unheard.

Theodore Nott, son of a known Death Eater.

Harry gingerly raised his formerly injured arm to touch the smooth ringlets that he had previously found so fascinating.

"Harry!" The call startled him and he jerked his hand away. The pound of approaching footsteps alerted him to the approach of two people; by their voices, Ron and Hermione.

"Over here," he croaked. His voice was sore from screaming under the Cruciatus. He bet that Theodore—Theo?—was only able to heal the worst of his injuries, his shoulder, before exhaustion caught up to him.

"Harry!" Hermione panted, running up to him. Her wand was still out and she looked frazzled, her uniform dirty and torn in some places. The glint of her proudly worn Prefect badge was absent, probably lost in the chaos.

Ron followed soon after, his long legs eating up the expanse between them. "Harry!" he yelled, his relief obvious. Harry's lips twitched in dry humor. He wondered why everyone seemed to be yelling his name non-stop today.

"Mate, we were—what the hell!" Ron's wand was out and trained on Theo, who was still passed out on Harry's chest, in a second. "Ab—"

Harry's lips firmed and he called his wand to his hand unconsciously. It leapt the small distance into his hand and he brought his arm up, slashing through the air as a shield erupted to cover both him and Theo. His next movement was a subtle flick of his wrist. Ron's wand flew out of his hand before he even had time to finish his incantation, landing neatly on the ground next to Harry's head.

After what Theo had done for him, there was no way in hell that'd he'd allow anyone to hurt him.

"Don't," Harry rasped, his throat clenching around the words painfully. "He saved me."

Ron and Hermione stared at him uncomprehendingly. The sable-haired young man ignored their stunned faces. He sat up gingerly, making sure to keep a firm arm around Theo's waist to prevent him from falling from Harry's chest. Theo was limp against him and he frowned when his movement didn't wake the Slytherin.

Hermione, taking his words at face value, nodded once and left to check on the members of the D.A. while the Order fought off the remaining rebels.

"Help me up," Harry told Ron. While the look of pained shock on his friend's face was somewhat amusing, Harry was in no mood to laugh or put up with pretty rivalries.

Ron snapped out of his gaping and walked over to help Harry to his feet, sending the unconscious teen in his best mate's arms an odd look. "We should get up to the castle," the tall red-head suggested, stooping to pick up his abandoned wand. "Madame Pomfrey will want to make sure you're not injured."

Harry nodded. "I'll meet you in the hospital wing—you should go get Hermione. The Order will handle whatever's left."

Ron walked off after one last confused glance at Theo, leaving an exhausted Harry to take the Slytherin and himself to the infirmary.

The black-haired teen sighed. "What am I going to do with you?" he asked himself. Harry hoisted Theo onto his back with a bit of difficulty before making his way towards the castle.

He had to rest partway through his trek, not because Theo was heavy, but because his shoulder was aching and carrying anyone for three-quarters of a mile after fighting a battle would tire anyone.

He was worried that Theo still had yet to make any movement at all, even after being jostled.

Harry made it up to the castle a few minutes later, stepping into a chaotic Entrance Hall. He saw Professor Sprout off to one side with a long piece of parchment and a quill, no doubt checking off students as they arrived. Flitwick, the Charms instructor, was sorting through the hysterical children, sending the injured to the hospital wing while the rest were pointed towards their dorms to rest.

As he stepped through the massive double doors, eyes flew to him. Harry could tell that they saw that he was carrying a Slytherin on his back by the confused whispering that rose up.

Sprout bustled over, her flyaway hair coming looks from under her cap. "Mister Potter!" she exclaimed. Harry mustered a small polite smile for her even as annoyance welled in his chest when her yell attracted even more unwanted attention. He shifted quietly and hitched Theo's limp form further up his back in order to hide the Slytherin from the probing stares.

"Professor Sprout," he greeted the Herbology teacher. "I'm here in one piece, along with…" he glanced around before lowering his voice, "Theodore Nott." He didn't want the Slytherin's presence to become common knowledge until he was able to defend himself.

Sprout looked surprised at his admission, her gaze flicking to the head of curly hair that was nuzzled into his neck, before nodding. He could almost say that she looked proud of him. He repressed a snort. "That's a relief for everyone, Mister Potter," she said. "Now, it's off to the hospital wing with you—go straight there, you hear me? No dilly-dallying."

Harry nodded dutifully and slipped out of the crowded Hall, making quick progress towards Madame Pomfrey's domain.

The hospital wing wasn't as crowded as he thought it would be. While he knew that Madame Pomfrey was efficient in her craft and had doubtlessly banned any simpering visitors that might disturb her work, the Death Eaters had been vicious and unsympathetic. Seeing the wing half-empty after such a battle gave him hope that the actions of the D.A. and himself had saved the lives of the younger years, and that he had taught his friends well enough that they were able to hold their own and come out alive and unhurt.

He quietly kicked the door closed behind him, walked over to an empty bed, carefully depositing his burden onto the soft sheets, and slumped into a nearby chair. Now that he was facing Theo, he finally got a good look at his face.

Harry frowned; he had heard the teen be described as rabbity—ugly. He shook his head and blithely wondered if those people were blind or just plain _stupid_.

Theodore Nott… looked innocent. His hair was slightly long, a golden-hued brown that reminded Harry of coffee with honey with dash of crème. It fell around the teen's ears and face in cute little ringlets; the perfect size, Harry knew from recent experience, to twine around his fingers.

He was pale, like most purebloods Harry had seen, and had gentle features that complimented one another quite handsomely. Fine-boned and slightly below average height, he didn't look anything like the rumor mill suggested. Harry grimaced self-deprecatingly; when had he ever put stock in rumors? He drew a bit of joy to see them proven wrong, but was angry that such lies were circulating about someone so clearly attractive. Of course, a lot of that anger had to do with the fact that the slight brunet had leapt to his rescue, taking on wizards twice his size and experience.

Harry reached over to grasp Theo's chin and gently turned his face to the side to examine the nasty gash decorating the teen's left cheek. That would have to be cleaned and healed—and quickly—if they were to prevent it from scarring.

"Madame Pomfrey," Harry called out, seeing that she was done tending to one of her patients; he knew better than to interrupt her while she worked. His rasping voice echoed around the quiet infirmary and he hoped that she wouldn't notice it.

The matron, recognizing his voice, spun on her heel abruptly and headed towards where he sat.

"Mister Potter," she nodded. "I was wondering when you would show up." The aging nurse looked him over with a practiced eye. "You seem to be relatively whole—" she paused, looking through the torn and bloodied shoulder of his robes to the unmarred skin beneath.

He grinned ruefully, "For the most part."

He waved a dismissive hand when she lifted her wand to check him over, before gesturing to the bed he sat next to. "I'm fine except for some bumps and bruises. He, on the other hand, isn't."

Pomfrey's lips pursed in thought as she turned her attention to Theo's form. "How long has he been unconscious?" she asked.

"Maybe an hour," Harry told her. "It isn't spell-induced—that I know—but he hasn't woken up or moved on his own since blacking out."

He watched as the nurse moved to Theo's side, her wand already weaving complicated patterns into the air. "Exhaustion," she muttered to herself, "laceration to the face, fractured fibula, severe contusions…" she trailed off. Goodness, what had happened to this boy? She turned to Harry, who was watching her intently. "Did this young man use a healing spell on you?" she asked, looking pointedly at his obviously healed shoulder.

Harry frowned, "Yes." What did that have to do with anything?

Madame Pomfrey sighed. "Idiot boy," she mumbled, tipping Theo's head back to slowly pour a potion down his throat. She nodded at Harry in thanks when he rose and took over her task, gently tipping the potions into the teen's mouth while a spell kept his larynx closed and induced swallowing between breaths, allowing her to return to casting, this time on the injury to Theo's face.

"Should have been in Gryffindor, this one," she continued. Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly. She was always remarking on his house when he came in injured; he knew she meant nothing by it and figured that she did it to everyone. Obviously he was correct.

"Is there something wrong?" he questioned, feeling worried despite himself.

"Yes, Mister Potter. This young man performed what is known as sacrificial healing. No—it's not what you're thinking; it's purely in the magical sense. Most healing spells use the patient's latent magic to hasten or encourage healing because it's already attuned to their body. It's less exhausting for the caster—significantly so—and offers quicker results."

Harry nodded, absorbing the information as he started on the next potion, a pale purple liquid that smell faintly of lavender.

"Mister Nott, however, used a stronger but drastically more dangerous form of healing. He injected his own magic into your wound and forced it to heal. It's a dangerous process—not for the patient, but for the healer, and usually used when dark magic is involved since the caster's magic is unaffected by the curse. It's rare that even full-fledged healers will attempt this as it's hazardous and draining on a _fully mature_ magical core.

"Not only do I find it shocking that Mister Nott attempted such a spell when he was probably _aware _of the repercussions, but that he succeeded at his age and magical maturity." The nurse was grim-faced as she sat down in Harry's previously occupied chair. Harry, on the other hand, stared down at Theo with an unreadable expression.

After Harry finished administering the potions under Madame Pomfrey's watchful eye, the woman sighed and stood, wiping her hands on the disinfecting towel tucked into her belt.

"I'm afraid that's all that can be done for now," she said, resting a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "He should wake within a few hours. You should thank him—judging from his state, I doubt I would have been able to heal you without leaving scar tissue behind."

Harry nodded solemnly, tearing his eyes and thoughts away from the still form on the bed. He stood still as she turned her wand on him, and swallowed the foul potions shoved into his hands without complaint.

The sable-haired teen met the nurse's gaze and saw the exhaustion there. Her shoulders were drooping and the whites of her eyes were bloodshot. He wondered if she'd had any time to rest between patients.

"Madame Pomfrey," he called softly just as she was about to slip away. He noticed that his voice wasn't nearly as harsh as before and the sting in his throat was absent. The nurse was so observant sometimes that it was startling, he mused. She paused at looked back curiously.

He reached out with his right arm—his wand arm—and placed his open palm parallel to the floor. She glanced at his hand and up at him in astonishment.

"Are you sure?" she asked, visibly surprised at the gesture. It was custom to offer healers replenishment after their services and after all she had done for him over the years, Harry wasn't going to allow her to collapse when he had the ability to keep her healthy.

She gave him a grateful smile when he nodded firmly, refusing to hear any protests. She placed her palm underneath his and waited for him to initiate the simple ritual.

He closed his eyes momentarily, delving into his core and calming his magic as much as possible, before extracting a thin thread and sending it to where his skin met hers'.

He'd already found out that his magic was too concentrated for the average witch or wizard after practicing the ritual with Hermione. Sending an ordinary rope-like stream of magic into the receiver would simply result in more exhaustion and burn out the channels that magic used to circulate the body, a painful process. Luckily, in Hermione's case, it wasn't too serious and she had recovered the next day.

He touched her magic gently, sensing their compatibility, before redirecting the thread into her core. He grimaced when he felt it was nearly empty; the woman had been pushing herself and was on the verge of collapse. And she called _him_ reckless.

It took a few moments and intense concentration before he was able to fill her core to the brim, and he then set his magic to lessening the aches and pains in her body, soothing her channels from the burn of overuse, and easing her fatigue. Harry could feel her tense muscles loosening and her posture straightening and he smiled before withdrawing.

He laughed at the look of shock on her face. The process was usually tiring for the initiator, but Harry had more magic than he knew what to do with—he could probably replenish Madame Pomfrey's core several times over before he started to feel the strain. After all, he had to dilute his own magic before he could even think of sharing it with her.

"Thank you, Mister Potter," she said, patting him appreciatively on the forearm.

"You're welcome, ma'am," he replied. "If you need another boost, please don't hesitate to ask." She was the only one in the school with certified healing skills and he doubted the idiots at the ministry would send for reinforcements from Saint Mungo's hospital. Hogwarts itself couldn't afford the extra manpower. Plus, he had a soft spot for her; for the effort she was putting into saving the lives of students, she got little to no thanks.

She eyed him for a moment, looking reluctant to take him up on his offer, before nodding. She walked off without another word, leaving him smiling amusedly after her as the infamous no-nonsense demeanor returned to her features.

His grin faded when his eyes turned to rest on Theo's unmoving figure. He scooted the uncomfortable chair closer to the bedside before sinking into it and crossing his legs.

Hopefully Theo would wake before long; they had a lot to talk about.


	3. Chapter 3

**In the Wake**

_A Harry Potter Fan Fiction_

By Systatic

* * *

**Disclaimer: **All information and warnings are in the first chapter.

**Summary: **Theodore Nott didn't think of himself as a typical Slytherin. Then again, anyone who fights off six Death Eaters to rescue an injured Harry Potter wasn't a typical Slytherin.

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

* * *

Theo groaned as he awakened. His muscles were sore and he could feel a sharp, burning emptiness in the middle of his chest. It wasn't painful, not really, but the way his arms and legs quivered in exhaustion and remembered terror, on top of the ache of his strained core, threatened to overwhelm him.

His breath hitched when a strong, warm hand gripped his. He drew comfort from the firm grip, relaxing as his own hand was engulfed and cradled carefully.

Theo pried his eyes open, unsurprised to see the arching stone ceiling of the hospital wing. He felt a twinge of thankfulness towards whoever blocked the sunlight he could see peeking through the cracks in the curtains.

He blinked slowly, clearing the blur of deep exhaustion from his vision while his hand gripped the calloused fingers tangled with his. They provided a lifeline as the battle and his actions during it came flooding back. Looking back, he wondered what he had been thinking—if he had been in the first place—jumping into a battle like that.

It had been a stupid idea, and he shuddered to imagine what the Death Eaters—what his father—would have done had they won, had Harry succumbed to his injuries instead of bravely, or foolishly, standing his ground. Theo would have been overwhelmed without question. He would probably be in some dank dungeon, being punished for his transgressions: for betraying both his father and the Dark Lord himself.

He wasn't sure who he was more afraid of. The Dark Lord was terrifying, yes, but he'd always been remote; an idea, a goal-before now, of course. His father, on the other hand... The man was in control over every aspect of his life, from what he ate to what he wore, not to mention the many rules restricting who he associated with and when.

With a sinking heart, Theo was coming to understand just what he'd done, what he had caused. He had no confirmation yet, but here was no doubt in his mind that his father would disown him. To betray his family's allegiances like that, their beliefs... it was unthinkable.

And yet, he had done it.

In the heat of the moment, he had thrown away his family, his future, his entire life—everything he'd ever known. It wasn't the most perfect life—his father was a cruel, cold man, and he'd never known much in the way of personal freedom, but it had been his.

There was a very real possibility that he wouldn't survive the year. His father, not to mention the Dark Lord, wouldn't take such an infraction lying down.

His eyes began to burn with the hot sting of tears and he let out a shuddering breath in an effort to suppress the overwhelming urge cry and scream.

A squeeze of the hand brought him from his musings. Theo glanced up, his eyes widening upon meeting the piercing green gaze of one Harry Potter. He flushed in embarrassment; the older teen had been sitting there, holding his hand, for who knows how long and Theo had been completely oblivious.

Theo offered the Gryffindor a tentative smile; might as well make nice with the person he had given up his family to save... while he was still breathing, at least. "Hello," he whispered. Had he been in any shape to care, he would have been disgusted by how weak his voice sounded.

Harry's face transformed. A smile, warm and friendly, spread across his lips. While his gaze was still intent, it had softened enough to be called concerned. Theo would have been tempted to say it was false, but nothing about Harry's expression was forced, and he was loathe to allow age-old prejudices—which he had never ascribed to in the first place—color his perceptions.

He met Harry's gaze bravely, even when he felt anything but.

"Hello, Theodore," Harry returned. Theo noticed that when he wasn't yelling put spells or... screaming in agony, Harry's voice was quite pleasant. Low and warm, it touched the ears gently, a perfect mask for the will of steel it concealed. "How are you feeling?"

Theo had to hold himself back from blurting out his thoughts. He wanted to want to scream at the Gryffindor, to tell him of every little thing his stupid actions had ruined, to blame the green-eyed teen for all that had happened. It would be so easy. But he didn't, and he couldn't.

Theo knew, in the end, that he'd made the choice, however unconsciously, to step out from underneath his father's thumb and into the battle—against the side he'd always been told he'd fight on.

Theo sighed, looking away from Harry's penetrating stare. He couldn't help the feeling that those eyes saw beneath his unaffected facade. It was a disconcerting feeling, having been raised to keep his thoughts and feelings hidden, regardless of their nature.

"I'm fine," he eventually answered. He doubted Harry would care about his sore muscles, or the near painful absence of his magic, or the whirlwind of fear and uncertainty threatening to come to the surface.

Harry's expression changed so quickly that it left him stunned. He sable-haired teen looked utterly serious—quite annoyed—and his eyes had a glint to them that was a bit frightening.

Theo wanted to know where this young man had come from. Where was the scrawny, awkward boy who had first come to Hogwarts? There was nearly no resemblance between that uncertain child and he assured, powerful man before him. The difference was almost chilling.

Harry's lips thinned. He detested it he was lied to, especially when it came to someone's health. It was a habit he himself had once harbored and he knew just how much grief it caused the people who cared about him.

"You're lying," he said, his lips pursed in a frown that left Theo feeling strangely guilty.

Madame Pomfrey had already given him an earful about the consequences of Theo's actions. He could only imagine the damage the teen had done to himself while healing Harry; and here he was, denying anything was wrong.

Theo resisted the urge to scowl. It was one thing to fib and get away with it, and it was another to be called on it so bluntly—especially by Harry Potter. That the Gryffindor could see through him so easily...

He could handle his injuries. Potions and spells couldn't cure an overworked core; he'd just have to wait it out. His other aches and pains weren't even worth mentioning, as they'd fade soon enough. They were nothing compared to the results of his father's ruthless training schedule. He'd gone days without having a broken arm healed before as punishment. For what, he was never sure about—his father's moods were as fickle as they were dangerous and Theo always seemed to receive the brunt of his temper.

"I'm fine," he insisted. He ignored the way he shivered, ignored the chills and growing numbness in his limbs as shock from magic loss set in. If he clutched harder at the warmth of Harry's hand, nothing was said about it.

"Please tell me the truth, Theodore," Harry asked again. The Slytherin's stubbornness was eerily familiar, and he felt the welling of exasperation that so many had suffered when dealing with an injured Harry before.

"Theo," the teen interrupted, his mouth set in a grimace of distaste. "Call me Theo." He didn't like when people used his full name; it was a reminder of his grandfather, whom he'd been named after. A more evil man he'd yet to meet.

Harry nodded in acquiescence, still obviously waiting an answer to his earlier question.

Theo stared at him for a few seconds, quietly judging whether or not to just give up his charade. He wasn't even sure why he was being difficult. Eventually, he sighed, deciding that it wasn't worth it. "My muscles ache," he finally admitted, "and my core is empty and my channels burn pretty badly."

The muscles around Harry's eyes tightened. "Those are serious symptoms, Theo." He shouldn't have written them off, especially since Harry could help. Just like he had with Madame Pomfrey, Harry held out his large hand, palm facing downwards.

Theo watched him perform the gesture with wide eyes. Even amongst purebloods, it was rare to offer your magic to a family member, much less a practical stranger. What Harry was offering was a sign of great trust; Theo wasn't sure the man fully understood the implications of a magic transfer. Yes, it would relieve most of his symptoms, but…

Harry resisted the urge to laugh as Theo stared at his hand like it was a snake about to strike. He had no doubt the teen knew what the offer meant.

"I—" Theo cut himself off; he had to make sure, before he accepted. "Do you know what you're offering?"

Harry looked at him silently, the stubborn set of his jaw bringing a small, reluctant smile to Theo's face. It was an expression he recognized, having seen it grace his own visage many times. The Gryffindor's arm, meanwhile, remained extended; to revoke it would be to revoke the offer, a great insult once it had been proposed.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, unsure if his own thoughts mirrored Theo's. He felt a bit stupid once he uttered the words, but he didn't want Theo to take his offer the wrong way.

Theo sighed. "I'm the heir of a pureblood house," he told Harry. At least, at the moment he was. "We're considered minor, but the same customs apply here. You're offering to make an alliance with me-when I come into power as the Head, the Potter and Nott families will be considered allies."

Harry's eyebrows rose. That was an interesting clause, one that the book Hermione had found had neglected to cover. "I wasn't aware," he admitted, but refused to remove his hand.

Theo gave him an exasperated look; a bit annoyed that Harry was making such important decisions with split-second reasoning, but knew that it was probably Harry's inner Gryffindor at work. He couldn't say that he wasn't the least bit grateful for it; it was, after all, Harry's courage that saved hundreds of students from being slaughtered, which saved Theo's own life after he foolishly rushed in to attack six armed Death Eaters.

He wanted to impress upon Harry the importance of such offers, the thought that needed to go into these things, but the throb in his channels was becoming unbearable and the urge to accept Harry's offer was so tempting. At the same time, if he did, Harry was getting himself into something larger than just an alliance, what his Theo's possible disownment on the horizon. He couldn't let someone walk into that blindly. It'd get the Gryffindor killed—he couldn't let anyone suffer the consequences of his own actions.

"I'm probably going to be disowned," he blurted, staring at Harry's hand in an effort to hide from the intent green gaze that suddenly seemed to burn into the crown of his head.

"What?" Harry asked, unsure if he'd heard correctly. Theo had just inferred that he was slated to become the next head of his family.

Theo winced at the teen's incredulity. "My father is a Death Eater," he said softly, the words so quiet that they were nearly inaudible. He lowered his eyes to the stark white sheets tucked neatly under the mattress. He didn't want to see the recrimination on Harry's face after his admission.

Harry stared at the bowed head before him silently. Theo's hands were clasped together tightly, the skin around his fingers becoming white with pressure. He hesitated for a moment before reaching forward with his outstretched hand and wrapping his fingers gently, but firmly, around both. "You're going to hurt yourself, Theo," he chided. "Now, please tell me what you mean."

"My father is a _Death Eater_," Theo repeated, emphasizing the title. "He's _completely_ loyal to the Dark Lord. What I did in Hogsmeade was… it was betrayal, pure and simple. He won't abide an heir that's disloyal to him. He'll disown me, and I'll be left with nothing. I—I'll be lucky if it doesn't get rid of me."

Harry stiffened at Theo's words, the muscles in his face tensing. At odds with his pursed lips, he grasped Theo's chin and slowly tilted his face up. It was completely blank, not a surprising sight. He was sure that Theo had been trained to hide his emotions beneath a empty façade.

"Get rid of you?" Harry echoed, silently asking for the Slytherin to elaborate. His mind was whirling a hundred miles a second, and a plan was slowly forming in his head. He didn't release Theo's chin, hoping to get some semblance of emotion.

He did. Theo's bottom lip trembled for a second and he looked so very sad and lost in that second before his face was wiped clean once more. His voice didn't hide his distress nearly as well. "He'll kill me, Harry," he admitted. "I'm useless to him now, a stain on the family name. It's easier to kill me and dispose of my body than formally disown me. H-He might even take me to the Dark Lord. I don't know, but I—no one can stop that, because he's my father."

_Not that anyone would care_, Theo mutely added.

He didn't have many friends in Slytherin house, and certainly none in other houses. He was kept a world apart—a silent shadow, ghosting through life, waiting for his next order. He felt like he was crumbling, falling apart into tiny little pieces because the glue holding him together, however foul and demeaning it had been, was gone. What was he to do? He was sure, now, that his father wouldn't even bother with legalities. Why should he? Was Theo to spend the rest of his life running, or would it simply be easier to submit to his fate? It would probably be the first time, from what he could remember, that he'd do anything on his own, without a trace of his father's machinations.

He finally met Harry's eyes. It was as if he was disconnected from the rest of his body; his mind felt light and airy—and shrouded in a deep, despairing darkness—with his realizations.

"And what," Harry suddenly asked, "would the ritual entail should I offer it to you even with your pending… disownment."

Theo looked at him, bewilderment finally permeating the austere lines of his face. The skin between his brows puckered slightly as they were drawn lower over his eyes. "Why would you do that?" he queried, his hands beginning to shake as his body slowly went into shock from magical withdrawal. He guessed he should probably call the school nurse now; it seemed to be a bit more serious than he'd previously thought.

He paused, then, just as he was about to ask Harry to call for Pomfrey. What would be the use? His father was just going to kill him anyway. So, he stubbornly kept silent and waited for Harry's answer.

"What would it entail?" the dark-haired teen persisted. He needed to know, and by the way Theo's muscles were beginning to quiver, Theo needed Harry's magic.

"Y-You'd be offering me protection," Theo whispered, the rationale behind Harry's question slowly becoming clear. "You'd be taking my father's place in my life—" He blinked at Harry's sudden cough, "—not, not like that; but you'd be my guardian in some aspects. You'd have control over my education and where I'd dwell, you… I don't know, it's complicated."

There were so many more things that would come of signing a pact—and that was what this was—in such a manner. Magical transfers, commonly seen as sharing in circumstances like this, were an ancient and still valid method of creating binding contracts. What Harry was hinting to… Theo wasn't sure he'd bring himself to accept.

Harry released Theo's chin, his fingertips lingering on the smooth skin in an almost-caress, and again offered his outstretched hand. He was going out on a limb, but it was the right thing to do. He couldn't allow Theo to be killed or disowned—the teen would be left with nothing, not even, if his suspicions had merit, his life.

"I'm offering to care for you, Theo," he said. "I can and will protect you from your father and the Dark Lord, and I'll do my best to provide for you. I know that this is… unorthodox, but I can't allow you to lose so much because of something we had such little control over."

Theo hesitated. Not because he doubted Harry—oh no, he knew of the power hiding behind the young man's strong frame; he could feel it pulse with every breath, feel it curl around him with each movement—and not because he was unwilling to let someone into his life like this; _anyone_ would be better than his father, but because he wasn't sure Harry really knew what he was getting into.

"What you're offering—"

"What I'm offering, Theo, is to give you what you need and want, and protect you from those that harm you." Harry's voice was firm; he wasn't going to allow Theo to plant seeds of doubt in either of their minds, not when something so important was on the line. "You yourself said that you don't expect to live once your father hears of your actions in Hogsmeade. I'm _offering_ you the chance to continue living. Please, Theo, take it."

Theo gazed at him for a few seconds before he nodded slowly. "Alright," he acquiesced. He would allow Harry to take this position in his life. It was crazy, and it would probably fall apart in the end. Harry would likely get sick of him, and he wouldn't blame him; Theo knew he was very dependent, and sometimes willful, and always reluctant to share what he was actually thinking. He took most of what was shoved at him without issue, and he was unsure whether Harry knew how to deal with that kind of person—with someone who _wouldn't_ question his every move.

He didn't know how to fight with someone over what he wanted, but he knew he didn't _want_ to fight Harry, especially over this, and so he agreed.

Harry smiled, the edges grim in the wake of their situation, and reached out to tangle his magic with that of the blue-eyed boy's before him.


	4. Chapter 4

**In the Wake**

_A Harry Potter Fan Fiction_

By Systatic

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**Disclaimer: **All information and warnings are in the first chapter.

**Summary: **Theodore Nott didn't think of himself as a typical Slytherin. Then again, anyone who fights off six Death Eaters to rescue an injured Harry Potter wasn't a typical Slytherin.

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**CHAPTER FOUR**

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Theo bit his lip and reluctantly released Harry's left hand, which was still gripping his, and placed his palm against the proffered hand. He marveled, briefly, at the difference in size—Harry's hands were so much larger than his, strong and calloused with long, elegant fingers—and waited for the touch of foreign magic.

Theo was more than a bit nervous; he'd read about this in theory, but he'd never actually experienced it. He trusted Harry not to hurt him, but he was afraid that he'd make a mistake, that he'd disrupt Harry's concentration, and the backlash would affect both of them.

"Relax," Harry murmured, breaking custom and wrapping his fingers around Theo's soft, white hand. It was trembling a bit, whether from the Slytherin's aching muscles or nervousness, he didn't know. He slowly brought the magic he'd gathered to the fore, thinning it as it traveled from his core to where their hands entwined, and carefully pushed the thread into Theo's channels.

At first, it was as if nothing occurred. Theo still felt the ache in his chest, the burn in his veins, and just as he was about to open his mouth and ask Harry just what had happened, everything went dark.

He thought he'd fainted until he realized that his eyes had shut of their own accord the moment Harry's magic had flooded through him. He shuddered at the feeling—it was so warm, so heady; it was like having everything that made Harry's character so unique inside of him.

"Merlin," Theo breathed, his eyes fluttering open to look at Harry's face in wonder. The strength of the magic flooding him was awe-inspiring. To think that Harry was the source, that he _lived_ with such power inside him every day was astonishing.

Harry's face was set in a mask of concentration. He'd nearly cringed when the feedback he received from his magic told him just how ravaged Theo's channels were. The horror in Madame Pomfrey's gaze made all the more sense now that he was able to sense just how much damage Theo had caused himself. He gritted his teeth when he remembered

Harry would have to ensure that Theo didn't try anything so reckless again. If this unspoken contract Theo hinted at was anything like Harry was expecting, Theo's well-being would be his responsibility from then on.

Harry cringed to think what Hermione or, god forbid, Ron would think about the entire situation. He had no doubt that he would be hearing exactly who they thought very soon indeed. However, he wasn't about to allow another person, one who had saved his life no less, suffer when he had he ability to stop it.

It took nearly five minutes of intense concentration to fill Theo's core. Healing Theo's ravaged magical channels was another story. Time and rest were the only possible medicines for such strain. Theo would have to refrain from using any taxing spells for a while.

Harry withdrew from Theo's core gently and opened his eyes, blinking against the bright light of the hospital wing. He paused when he caught sight of Theo's blissful expression. Odd reaction; he'd never had someone react to sharing magic like that.

"Theo?" Harry called, leaning forward enough to grasp the Slytherin's shoulder. The brunette's eyes fluttered for a moment before he seemed to come back to himself. "You alright?" Harry asked him, watching the other draw himself together with concerned eyes.

Theo blinked slowly, staring at him for a long moment before he swallowed heavily and nodded. "Yeah," he rasped. "I'm okay."

The Slytherin shook his head internally. Did Harry not know of the effect his magic had on others? Theo had barely been able to keep his head. The urge to crawl into Harry's lap and just soak in the energy simply falling off of him was almost uncontrollable.

Harry eyed him doubtfully before relenting. He was tempted to ask Theo what would happen next, but knew that the other had as much idea as he did. And, he reminded himself, he had just agreed to take responsibility for the other teen. Of course, it wasn't a hard decision to make. Between Theo staying under the questionable care of his father or that of Harry's, the choice had been obvious.

"Is that it?" Harry eventually questioned, breaking the heavy silence between them.

Theo, who had been fiddling with the white cotton sheets of his bed looked up at him, his brown furrowing slightly. "Is what it?"

Harry grimaced. Perhaps he should have elaborated. "I meant to ask if there was anything else I needed to do to. Paperwork I need to file, documents I need to sign. If your life is in danger, I don't want your father to have any power over you." Harry wasn't sure if this contract—whatever it was—had even taken hold. There had been none of the elaborate theatrics he'd come to associate with magic. No flashing lights, no sudden feeling of warmth.

Theo shook his head. "I—no, there's not much else we can do but wait. It's not final, not yet, but if my father files to have me disinherited or makes an attempt to remove me from your care, the contract will activate. It's complicated, but pretty ironclad."

Theo went on to explain that such contracts were primarily used—several hundred years ago—between lords and their vassals on an individual basis to ensure that custody, no matter what happened, of the vassal would revert to the lord in case of familial differences or political strife. He didn't need to explain that the contracts had been abused just as often as not, though he trusted Harry wouldn't even think about doing so.

"It's all antiquated. They've fallen out of use; paper contracts—and contracts that aren't nearly as vague or overbearing—are more popular now."

"I can see why," Harry wryly stated. It was pretty evident that Theo was dancing around exactly what his responsibilities to the other would entail, and he said just that.

Theo ducked his head and bit his lip nervously. "It's not that I mean to confuse you," he admitted. "It's just that, I—I don't know if—" He shook his head and drew a deep breath before looking Harry in the eyes. "I know that you agreed to this and I'm grateful, really. My father—he's not someone you cross. And we're both young and I find it hard to believe that you can accept being saddled with a teenager—with _me_—just like that."

Theo looked away, pinning his gaze to the mound of extra blankets at his feet. "The contract is pretty absolute. It's not something that can be written down, and your exact duties aren't detailed like you're used to, but it..." He paused to swallow heavily, "It gives you an absurd amount of power over me." And as wonderful as Harry was turning out to be, Theo was scared. He knew that Harry was nothing like his father—he couldn't even conceive of it. But this entire situation felt unreal. He'd just put his life in Harry Potter's hands. Just like that.

Harry drew his attention when he took both of Theo's hands in his. "I know this is frightening for you. Hell, I'm scared too. It brings home that there's so many different sides to magic, sides that I don't know about or understand and probably never will. And it makes me wonder about all the other students who might be living under similar circumstances. How many of the Slytherins will be forced into Voldemort's service because of their parent's mistakes? How many of them will suffer because they had no choice?"

Harry took a deep breath and blew his fringe out of his eyes. Theo's eyes were drawn to the vivid red scar adorning Harry's forehead. It looked painful.

"And then there's you, Theo. You saved my life out there. Twice." Theo resisted the urge to refute that. Harry had done the same, and just as many times. "In a way, I feel responsible for you."

Theo winced, resisting the urge to yank his hands away from the Gryffindor. His words hurt, they really did.

Harry groaned. "No, that's not—I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I—how can I explain this?"

Theo watched as Harry stood and turned towards the adjacent bed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I've faced Voldemort every year I've been at Hogwarts, excepting my third, which brought its own set of problems. My entire life has been defined by one singular moment that happened when I was fifteen months old. I have hundreds of thousands of people looking to me to solve their problems. They expect me to kill Voldemort. They beg for it. They demand it."

He turned back to face Theo, and the frustration in his eyes was plain to see. "And the thing is, I'm the only one that can finish it. I don't like it, I don't want it, but I've accepted it. It's the way things are. Harry Potter is the only one that can kill Lord Voldemort. And, god willing, all those people will be saved."

Theo bit his lip, his stomach churning. He'd had no idea that Harry was under so much pressure, and perhaps he'd never cared to look before now. But Theo could clearly see the strain in the muscles of Harry's shoulders, the tightness of his face.

"I can't fault them for it, not really. I'm angry, yeah. I want them to solve their own problems. I want them to stop burying their heads in the sand. I want them to stop foisting their problems onto me. But if I was one of them, if there was someone who could take care of this whole mess when nobody else could, I would sure as hell expect them to do it. But all those innocent people, all those lives that might be lost if I just stand on the sidelines, I don't feel responsible for them. I don't spend my days worrying that some couple in Kent might be abducted by Death Eaters. I'd be horrified when I heard of it, and I'd be pissed, and I'd want to rip the bastards responsible for it apart, but I'm not responsible for it."

Harry sighed and slumped back into the uncomfortable wooden chair and rested his head in his hands. "I went through this period when I thought everything was my fault. A muggle family was killed, and it was my fault. Death Eaters were broken out of jail, and it was my fault. If an auror turned up missing, or one of the Slytherins started acting suspiciously or one of my schoolmates got a bloody stomachache—I'd find a way to connect it to Voldemort and it would be all my fault."

Theo shifted uneasily. "Sounds exhausting," he whispered. Harry glanced at him through his fingers and smiled wryly.

"You have no idea. I worried myself into the hospital wing, actually. I was so intent on taking responsibility for everything that happened that I stopped thinking about things that I actually had power over. I hurt my friends, my teachers, my classmates, my education, all over events I couldn't control. It was Madame Pomfrey, actually, that smacked some sense into me. She sat me down and simply listened why I raged about this and that, and eventually I started hearing myself and realized what a martyring snot I sounded like."

Theo laughed quietly, and Harry cracked a grin at the sound.

"She helped me understand that I don't have to feel responsible for events that, in reality, have no connection to me, that there was nothing wrong with caring or being a little bit selfish, but I was going about it in the wrong way. I'd forgotten how to take the good with the bad. Truthfully, I'd forgotten that there was any good at all. So I stopped. It took a while, and it was hard, but I stopped taking responsibility."

There was a long moment of silence while Theo digested Harry's words. "So what did you mean? Earlier, when you said you felt responsible for me." After Harry's long confession, his earlier words didn't seem nearly as harsh.

Harry sighed and dropped his hands to his lap. "Theo, I feel responsible for things that are important to me. My friends, my comrades, my teachers, my school. You deliberately endangered yourself to save my life. I saw you—even though I didn't know who it was at the time—smack one of the Death Eaters over the head with that rock. I felt you try to shield me, I felt you heal me. I heard you apologize even though you'd done absolutely nothing wrong." Theo's cheeks heated at Harry's words and the heavy weight of his gaze.

"I'm not going to let those debts go unpaid," he continued. "And more than that, I want to get to know the person who had the courage to go against his beliefs, his _family_, and save enemy number one. I'm not going to stand by and let your father hurt you or, God forbid, kill you because of that." Harry's face tightened and his stare turned dark. "I'll tear him apart," he growled. "I promise you that."

Theo stared at him in astonishment. "I—" Harry held up his hand, cutting Theo off, and continued, his voice fierce.

"To put it bluntly, I've been through a lot of shit. If you think that protecting you is a burden, then let me set you straight." Harry then reached across the small distance between his chair and the bed took Theo's face between his palms. "Look at me, Theo." When the Slytherin avoided his gaze, his grip tightened, but not painfully. "No, _look_ at me. I mean it."

He waited until a nervous blue gaze met his own. "I don't take promises lightly," Harry stated, "and I made a _promise_ when I shared my magic with you. I promised that I would take look after you, that I'd take care of you. Whatever that entails, whatever I need to do to make sure you're safe, I'm willing to do it. Do you understand me?"

Theo watched him, his hands somehow moving to fist Harry's torn robes, before nodding as much as Harry's hands would let him. His throat felt tight and it ached, and a suspicious burn had developed behind his eyes. Harry's grip turned gentle and he stroked his calloused fingertips along the cheek that had, just an hour ago, been marred by a nasty wound.

"Any lingering pain?" Harry asked.

Theo jerked slightly at the sudden subject change, but appreciated Harry's attempt to steer them onto safer ground. "My muscles ache, and my knees are a bit sore, but otherwise, I'm okay."

Harry nodded before releasing him and standing. "I'm going to check with Madame Pomfrey and see if we can do anything about that."

Theo opened his mouth to argue, but Harry's narrow-eyed stare caused his mouth to close with a click of his teeth. He wondered, briefly, if he had learned that particular expression from Granger. He'd seen her use it on Weasley countless times, but never knew just how effective it would be.

He watched Harry stalk away, feeling a bit light-headed after everything that had just happened. The Slytherin was having trouble reconciling the fiercely independent, strong, wise young man that he'd just seen with the rash teen he'd seen bickering with his rival, Draco Malfoy, only a year before. So much had changed, and in so little time.

Harry hadn't been gone for more than a few minutes when the hospital wing's doors slammed open. Theo jumped, turning in time to watch a whirlwind of brown and ginger hair and dirty black robes practically shove its way through the doorway. A second look showed both Granger and Weasley were covered in a fine layer of dirt and spots of blood. Theo swallowed as they surveyed the open room before their eyes landed on him. A flash of recognition crossed their features and they started towards him.

Theo resisted the urge to crawl underneath the covers at the duo's determined faces. Weasley, in particular, looked particularly agitated though Theo couldn't tell if it was residual adrenaline from the battle or the simple fact that Theo was a Slytherin.

"You—" Weasley started, before pausing, suddenly looking awkward. "Uh, what was your name again?"

"Theodore Nott," he muttered, wishing he had his wand with him. He'd seen Harry tuck it into his robes before leaving, probably an effort to keep him from using magic, the sneaky bastard.

"Right," Weasley coughed, looking a tad more friendly now that he'd lost his momentum. "Where's Harry?"

Theo just pointed towards Pomfrey's office, feeling extremely out of place. He noticed that Granger had yet to look away from him, and her assessing gaze caused a nervous lump to develop in his throat.

"Ron, Hermione," a sudden voice greeted. Theo looked up to see Harry emerge from the office with a surprised, but pleased look on his face. He grinned and moved to wrap both of his friends in a hug. All three seemed to share in a moment of relief before gathering themselves. Harry patted Ron on the shoulder and squeezed Hermione's hand before returning to Theo's bedside. He handed the teen a vial with a dark purple potion in it.

"For your muscles," he said, waiting until Theo had swallowed it before handing him another—this one a bright blue. "And your knees," he added.

Theo grimaced at the aftertaste and nodded in thanks when Harry handed him a glass of water from the nightstand. A glance to his left told him Weasley and Granger were watching the scene with varying levels of confusion. He nudged Harry slightly, hiding as much of his face behind the cup in his hands as possible, and motioned towards the young man's friends.

"Oh, right. Ron, Hermione, this is Theodore Nott. Theo, Ron and Hermione."

A short moment of silence was followed by Granger's polite, "Nice to meet you," and Weasley's abrupt, "Hey."

Theo managed to give them a small, shaky smile, the potions making his head fuzzy and his tongue heavy.

"So, uh, Harry," Weasley began, glancing warily at Theo's bedridden form, "why are you still in here? The Order wants to talk to you."

Harry shrugged as he absently tucked the blanket around Theo more tightly. "They can come in here if need be. I'm looking after Theo."

The two Gryffindor's eyebrows rose. Granger's mouth had just opened to say something when Madame Pomfrey bustled out of her office and swept the two reluctant students away for exams. Theo stared after them for a moment and then turned to Harry, who was eying him in amusement.

"What?" Theo asked, confused.

Harry grinned at him. "You get this wide-eyed look when you're overwhelmed. It's kind of adorable."

Theo's mouth dropped slightly. He didn't know what to say to that.

Luckily, Harry drew him into a conversation about Ron and Hermione before he could embarrass himself any more. He explained what to expect when they found out—which apparently meant research on Granger's part and harmless bluster on Weasley's—until they were interrupted once more, this time by a mismatched gaggle of wizards. Harry walked around his bed to greet each of them by name, placing himself between the group and Theo's bed. The gesture wasn't subtle at all and Theo could see several newcomers sneaking glances at him, evidently wondering what he'd done to earn Harry's attention.

"Hey, Harry, who's your little friend?" The question came from a young pink-haired witch. She was watching him contemplatively, and grinned when she caught his eyes.

"Theo," Harry said, refusing to elaborate further on his name. His reluctance let Theo know that allowing his last name get out to the group wouldn't be a good idea.

Unfortunately, any plans to keep introductions simple were waylaid by the arrival of the Headmaster and Professor Snape. Theo's heart sank in his chest. If there were two people that would cause problems for him and Harry, it was these two men. The Headmaster nodded to the gathered wizards before excusing himself to Madame Pomfrey's office, presumably to ask about the wounded. Snape stayed behind.

"Potter, where have you—Nott?"

"Where has he not, what? Snape, what in the world?"

"No," the potions master growled, annoyed, "I meant _Nott_. As in, the young man laying in the bed. Theodore Nott."

His name caused a low whispered conversation between the gathered wizards. He could almost see the frowns pulling at their lips and forced himself to keep a blank face. By this time, Harry had retaken the seat by Theo's bedside, and the Slytherin drew comfort from his steady presence.

"Nott, what are you doing here?" Snape asked, nearing his bedside. Harry, who sat opposite him, tensed visibly.

"Professor," Theo greeted quietly. "I got caught by some stray spells."

Snape nodded, turning to sneer at Harry for good measure, before asking, "Have you been tended to?" At Theo's nod, he continued, "Are you able to walk?"

Theo glanced at Harry nervously, but the young man just stared forward with a clenched jaw. Theo's stomach sank. "Yes, sir," he replied.

"Good, then off with you. The rest of the Slytherins are in the common room." When Theo hesitated and looked at Harry once more, Snape snapped at him. "Leave, boy."

Theo had just started to get out of the bed when Harry shot out of his chair, nearly knocking the piece of furniture over, and laid a heavy hand on Theo's shoulder, stilling his movements. "Don't you dare leave this bed," Harry ordered, frowning at him. Theo's eyes widened and he nodded slowly.

"Potter," Snape began, his voice low and dangerous, "what do you think you're doing?"

Harry's upper lip curled as he turned to the potions master. "_I'm_ keeping an injured student who has not been released _in a place of healing_. What do _you_ think _you're_ doing?"

"You _insolent_ little—you have no authority to contradict my orders!"

"You'll find that not only do I not give a _damn_ about your orders, but I do in fact have the authority. Theo stays here, end of discussion."

Theo glanced between the two men, alarmed. They looked like they were about to come to blows, their usual ire with one another's presence exacerbated by the recent battle. Snape already had his hand curled around his wand, and Harry's was about to dip into his pocket. Theo resisted the urge to reach out to Harry, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire.

"I am head of Slytherin house, you cocky _shit_!" Theo started, never having his head of house swear before. "You have—"

"Boys, boys, what is going on here?"

Theo almost melted in relief as the Headmaster returned in time to diffuse the rising conflict.

"Potter, here—"

"Snape is being—"

Their words cut off abruptly, and both heads swung around to look at the Headmaster, who was putting away his wand, in disbelief. He merely smiled serenely at their darkening faces.

"I believe that we should ask someone else for their version of the events, yes?" And with that, the Headmaster's bright blue gaze landed on Theo.


End file.
